The Stray
by ink and ashes
Summary: Elizabeth Parker has lost her way. Sequel to The Bathroom Mirror. Mature audiences only. Written for the Inferno Challenge on Roswell Heaven.


_The Stray_

**THE SIN: **Envy

It was a beautiful day, she noticed absently, stifling a particularly loud groan. The sun glimmered through the mass of emerald leaves like golden drops of rain betwixt the splattering of branches overhead. The thin, opaque clouds lazily danced around amid the cerulean skies, occasionally clumping together to make strange shapes, as if they were playing with each other. Birds flew by, tearing through the—_oh, God_—serenity of the vast canvas high above them; their squawking did little to disturb the utopian painting she spied whenever she could muster the strength to open her heavy eyes. Of course, it was hard to see anything past the shock of tawny hair that tickled her face, or the warm glow of amber whenever their lips parted for air, or that little mole she found endearing less than a centimeter away from his left eyebrow. She attributed this sudden analytical observation of her environment to the toe-curling release she'd experienced twice during this impromptu romp, and the foggy stupor she always slipped into afterward.

They were in the park, the sharp scent of freshly cut grass overpowering her nostrils. Michael had her pinned against the sturdy trunk of an old oak tree, the bark biting into her bare back; not that any of it mattered once his mouth locked onto hers and he was sliding up the hem of her summer dress. She was used to bruises and aches after every encounter, had anticipated them, encouraged them more times than not. They were her badges of honor, physical proof that there was _something_ that could force a man like Michael Guerin to lose all semblance of control.

She yelped when a powerful thrust drove her roughly against the wooden column behind her, breaking skin. The pain was fleeting and instantly evaporated once he dove forward to swallow her cry, his hands slipping down her spine to pull her away from the rough foundation until she was supported by his strength alone. She could die in his arms, right here, _right_ _now_, and not have a single regret.

Well, that was not _entirely_ accurate.

They crumpled into a panting, sweaty heap on the cool blades of evergreen grass. Neither cared about stains or ruined fabric in light of Michael's newly found interest pertaining to the more mundane of his abilities; he could not heal on the same level as Maxwell Evans, but she knew the wounds that ran along her spine would be mended with tenderness and haste once he'd gotten his fill of her. She just wished he would never stop wanting more, as she so hopelessly begged for.

Her name, pouring from his lips like sweet nectar, made her shiver in happiness. She loved when he did that, an exclamation he never bothered to withhold. She loved when he slumped against her in the aftermath, his weight a sinful comfort when he could no longer support himself, lost in the fantastical visions of stars and constellations as surely as she was. She adored the familiar tang of his spicy breath against her skin as he huffed from exertion, adored the way he instinctively clung to her, the way he nibbled on the line of her jaw, the way he hummed in contentment, the way his lashes fanned against his cheeks as he basked in the afterglow of their union. She was so irrevocably in love with this gorgeous creature that her heart throbbed and ached when he was near, shattering into tiny shards when he inevitably fell back to Earth and returned to the one woman she both cherished as a sister and despised as her most bitter enemy.

The time came, as it always did, for them to stand and straighten themselves. As expected, he rectified her shallow injuries and fixed the horrible mangling of their clothes, his brow furrowing in concern when she wobbled. "You okay?" he asked, his voice deliciously deep.

His genuine worry caused a curious stirring in her chest. She waved away his inquiry, as usual. "I'm fine."

If he noticed the waver in her voice, he did not comment on it. "Sure?" he prodded further, inspecting his shirt for any hidden damages.

"Mhm," she mumbled and stared at nothing; the tingling in her limbs, the thick blanket of dreamy euphoria, the wonderful lethargy that made it impossible to stand straight for too long… she wished there was a word to encompass this intoxicating sensation, wondered if there existed one in the English language. She noticed him smirking at her, snapping her temporarily out of her reverie. "What?" Her voice was unusually soft; she never recognized herself around him.

"Nothing," he responded, grinning now. He was bursting with pride and his mirth was solely directed at her. "We gotta catch up to the others."

She nodded her agreement, straightening her dress. As was customary when Michael decided to kidnap her, they walked away from the scene separately. It was especially necessary this time, since Michael had gotten the bright idea to grab her while Max, Kyle, Isabel and Maria—the name made her cringe—were walking only a few paces ahead on the cement path, and though they were all distracted by Maxwell Evans and his less than brilliant plan of raiding a convenience store under the guise of robbing it, this had to have been one of the closest encounters Michael had ever instigated. It was nerve-wracking and exhilarating all at once, and she found that she did not care if they were caught in the act. _Let_ the others find out the truth, _let_ them see what she and Michael hid in plain sight. Perhaps, when it was apparent that she had given herself to Michael Guerin—over and over and over and _over_—it would save her the hassle of telling Max that she could not try again. That her heart no longer palpitated for him like it once did, that he was better off with another woman… someone who could stomach his past transgressions.

It was sick and twisted and incredibly cruel, but Elizabeth Parker _wanted_ the others to know about this dirty little secret. It would make everything so much easier; Maria would leave Michael and Liz would be free to have him all to herself. She would not have to keep up the charade in front of her friends, the constant bickering over meaningless issues, the severe detachment she'd perfected in order to refrain from throwing herself at him every time she saw his face. Liz _hated_ to lie, but her life now consisted of so many fallacies and half-truths that she was starting to forget just who Elizabeth Parker was beneath it all.

She had not strolled more than a few feet away from that beautiful spot surrounded by hedges beneath the oak tree when Kyle Valenti, yet another person she was lying to, came into view. A lock of dark hair fell forward to shadow his eyes for a moment before he looked up at her, his hands buried deep in his faded blue jeans. Her heart stopped beating and her feet were rooted to the ground. How long had he been standing there? Had he been looking for them? Had he seen…? A heady mix of fear and excitement threatened to overwhelm her already light head. So lost in the very real possibility that her hiding would finally, _finally_ come to an end, she barely registered Michael walking up behind her, just as lost in his own little world. His voice, when he realized why she had frozen in place, brought her back from her vivid daydreams. "Is there a problem?" He was automatically defensive, frowning at Kyle.

Kyle shook his head. "We've been looking for you guys," he explained. His unreadable gaze dropped to her, staring intensely. It made her blood run cold. "Thought I'd warn you."

"Thank you," she managed around the lump in her throat. The urge to babble was fierce. "We were just, uh…"

"Save it," Kyle said, a wry smile gracing his mouth. "I'm just doing my good deed for the day."

As grateful as she was, Liz had to fight back a sob at the disappointment she saw written on her ex-boyfriend's face. No matter how harshly she had treated him or how she had broken his heart, he had remained a loyal friend of hers in spite of everything. Kyle had watched her moon over Max Evans, watched her make a fool of herself time and time again… and now, she was sure he had seen her disgrace herself, yet again, with an alien. Those eyes that had seen more than they had probably ever wanted to were carefully blank now, but she had a feeling that he would never look at her the same.

The long trek back to the vehicles proved that the theory of relativity _sucked_; what had only taken five minutes seemed like a lifetime as she walked between Kyle and Michael, her shoulders stiff, her arms wrapped around her abdomen protectively. She felt conspicuous in her short red dress and black heels, felt exposed and vulnerable and two inches tall. The ensemble had been an attempt to make her seem more appealing to him when she felt anything but, even after their coupling. A sigh of relief escaped her when they met the others, but it was a short lived victory once she spotted Max and Maria… the two people she tried to avoid at all costs. Michael immediately moved over to his rambling girlfriend, pulling her into an embrace as he made up some story along the lines of: "Liz lost her earring." The excuse was pathetic at best, and yet her friends fell for it so easily, so completely. She had not _worn_ earrings today and rarely did on any other given day. _God_, could these people be any more gullible? It sickened her how easy it was to manipulate them, _sickened_ her how Maria simpered and cooed at Michael for being such a good boy, _sickened_ her how painfully right they looked together.

"I'll walk," she found herself saying, bitterness lacing through the simple words.

Max frowned at her. "You're gonna _walk_ all the way home?"

She glared at him, rubbing her arms in an effort to chase away the chill. When had it gotten so cold? "Don't patronize me, Max."

"Liz," he sighed, speaking to her as a parent would to a petulant child. It made her hackles rise. "We're going to the Crash, anyway. It's senseless for you to walk." He reached for her. "C'mon, just get—"

She smacked away his hand, belligerent and defensive. "Back off."

Clearly, he had not expected that, which seemed awfully dense of him. Had he not noticed her avoidance of his touch since the debacle with Tess and his illegitimate spawn? Max adopted a wounded expression and had this been several months ago, she would have kissed away his hurt. Now, however, she did not have the patience for anyone, _especially_ him. "What's wrong with you?" she heard him ask, and it was all she could do not to lose herself in a vicious temper tantrum. Instead, she turned on her strappy heels and stalked away from him, from _them_, from their curious eyes and their condemnation. What did _they_ know? Everything was all about _them_ and their never ending cause. "Liz!" Max was calling, but she kept walking.

"I need the exercise!" It was a poor excuse, but if they believed Michael's earring story, they'd believe _anything_.

As Kyle would say, karma was a _bitch_.

**x.x.x**

It was days like this that she missed Alex. Missed him _so much_, she would curl into herself and cry.

Her emotions were running wild and she _knew_ she was behaving irrationally, but she had neither the strength nor desire to stop herself. There was some chemical imbalance going on with the receptors in her brain, she was sure, to make Elizabeth Parker act like a spoiled child whenever she saw Michael and Maria together. Just the thought of those two made her nauseous, not unlike her reaction to watching her former _soul mate_ thoroughly plunder Tess Harding like a dog. How could Max expect her to fall into his arms when he'd conceived an offspring with the enemy? How could Michael hug and kiss Maria only moments after…? None of it made sense to her, and as much as she attempted to pick apart their thought processes to try and understand where their appalling tendencies came from, she never came to a logical conclusion. Not one that made her feel better, at any rate.

_Alex_. It hurt so much to think of him. Her one true constant, regardless of the situation, was gone. _Gone_, because of the same blonde that Max had allowed to fly away without a mark. That, above all else, made it hard for Liz to touch him. To _see _him. His very presence was a constant reminder of her loss and it made her want to disregard all reason and hurt him, _hurt_ Max Evans like he'd hurt her. Anger broke through her grief and Liz buried her face in one of her soft pillows, screaming so that her parents would not hear their only daughter losing her mind. She screamed and screamed until she'd scraped her esophagus raw, the shrill cries fading into muffled sobs.

"_Christ_, Liz," she heard over her own wailing. The shock alone stopped her tears. "What the fuck is going on?"

Michael. She could never mistake his voice, or how the air shifted when he was near. How long had he stood there, watching her? Not that it was relevant. It would not be so farfetched to say that he did not care about her mental state, and that pained her more than the thought of Max Evans. She was _pathetic_. In spite of everything, she wanted him again. It did not matter how much the thought of him loving Maria made her want to retch, or how he had probably just finished sleeping with his girlfriend, or how angry she was at the world and all of its injustices… she still wanted him. That inescapable knowledge made her cringe in distaste, hating herself more than anyone else for this weakness. "Please leave," she choked. She heard his heavy footsteps inch closer to the bed and wondered why she thought he would listen to her request. The last time she had poured her heart out, all he had offered in return was a meager apology before throwing her against a wall and reminding her why he was her drug of choice. There was only so much humiliation Liz Parker could stand.

The bed dipped from his weight and the light caress upon her spine completely floored her. "Liz," he murmured softly.

She _hated_ when he did that. Why did he have to show even a smidgeon of consideration for her? It just complicated everything. It made refusing him so much harder than it already was. She closed her eyes, every cell in her body coming alive beneath his large, gentle hands. The ministrations continued till his fingers began to play with her hair, shifting the scattered tendrils until her entire back was exposed. Her sniffle was the only reply she gave, but she did not dissuade him from touching her. She could _never_ deny him, so when Michael pushed her slightly, forcing her to lay flat on her belly, she did not voice any objections to his actions, still refusing to turn her face towards him lest he see the extent of her agony. Again, his calloused palms roamed over her flesh and for the first time since she'd stomped home in a huff, she was glad that she'd worn the little backless number, even if the color seemed particularly loud to her own eyes.

He traced slow, searching circles above her tailbone, increasing the pressure until she hissed, biting the knuckle of her index finger. He stopped immediately. "Does that hurt?"

"Mhm," was all she could manage, her vision obscured in the most wonderful way.

He leaned away from her, just a little bit. "You want me to stop?"

She shook her head emphatically, hoping he understood that she never wanted him to cease. His low chuckle warmed her down to her toes and when he straddled her backside, she felt giddiness replace the macabre thoughts that tormented her so. With a fluidity that surprised her, the pads of his fingers expertly found every myofascial trigger point she had never known existed and patiently rubbed them away with ease. She gasped every time he found a new knot, attempting to quiet herself and failing miserably, squeaking as the sharp, sweet pain wreaked havoc on her sensitive nerves. Why had he never divulged this hidden talent of his? Liz could not help but wonder if Maria knew he was such an amazing masseuse, and then promptly lost her train of thought when he reached up to work on her shoulders.

Her fingers dug into the bed sheet beneath her as the pleasure forced her to hide her face in a pillow again. A very unfeminine grunt tumbled from her mouth but she was powerless to stop it and, quite frankly, she did not care to. This felt _so good_. He touched a particularly sore spot at the nape of her neck, causing one knee to bend reflexively, accidentally stabbing his side with the shoes she had yet to discard.

"Sorry," she huffed, trying to regain control of her body; she was putty in his hands, boneless and entirely susceptible to his every whim. An invertebrate. He said nothing, resuming his devious conquest of her muscles.

When he was finished and she could not move if her life depended on it, Michael bent forward to kiss the curve of her shoulder blade, his lips teasing her tingling skin. "Feel better?" he asked. All he received was a lazy _Mmmph _of approval for his troubles, but she felt the smile that spread across his face. "Good." He flipped her onto her back and burrowed his nose in her collarbone, those heavenly hands of his slowly skimming up the short hem of her dress. His intentions were no longer so innocent, if they ever had been to begin with. She did not mind at all. "My turn," was the almost playful proclamation, and he refreshed her memory of just how many talents he possessed.

Hours later, after he'd gone back to his apartment and she lay dozing in a state of total relaxation, she would marvel at how close it had felt to making love.

**x.x.x**

This was, by far, the _dumbest_ thing she had ever done in her life. _Ever_.

Pacing frantically in a bland four by six cell, Elizabeth Parker did not know whether to cry or scream. Both were probably inevitable if she had to stay here another day. She promised herself that if she ever got out of this holding facility, in this hellhole called Salina, Utah, she would _never_ do anything like this again. Not for herself, not for Maxwell Evans… _no one_. Not even Michael. Unless he was placed in a cell with her. _Then_, she might have made an exception. But no, they separated the males and females into their own corridors, choosing to place them in one of the various cages lined against the walls. Never mind that _Michael_ was the reason she had agreed to this harebrained scheme in the first place; him, her horrible timing and that girlfriend of his, whom she refused to call by name. If she did, she would collapse onto the cold floor and never drag herself back up again.

Not only was she beginning to feel the walls close in on her, she could not dislodge the image burned into her retinas. This was a nightmare, a horror movie that continuously played on loop until she was ready to claw her eyes out. When she closed them, she could still see the dark room, illuminated by dozens of aromatic candles. _Vanilla_, a scent she was fond of, though not one of her favorites. Vanilla was _Maria_'s favorite—she shuddered at the name, even as a part of her broke in sorrow to despise someone she considered a sister—and that should have tipped her off. When did Michael ever light candles? The one and only time she remembered such an elaborate gesture towards ambience had been his ploy to glean information from her via flashes, a series of images brought into play when she and Max were physically intimate. So why the candles? And why vanilla? Standing in his doorway, staring at the sweet glow of tiny flames, she remembered vanilla being used to cure ailments in aroma therapy. Indigenous to Mexico, the full cultivation of the vine was made possible through pollination by bees. It was not until the nineteenth century, with the discovery of hand pollination, that vanilla took root in different regions, including Madagascar, Indonesia and Tahiti.

She recalled running over all of the random facts she knew about vanilla, distracting herself as unease formed a tight knot in her stomach. Other than the wonderful massage he'd given her, Michael never did anything special. Sure, a girl liked to be wined and dined every now and then, but she had known what she had gotten herself into when she'd thrown herself at him that night at the Prom, desperate and heartbroken and so, _so_ lonely. She knew what she getting into when she'd started forgetting the magic in Max Evans and realized the diamond in the rough that was Michael Guerin. All he needed was himself to make her happy… if only he'd give her that much… but that was beside the point.

The point, in this case, was that Michael did _not_ approve of, purchase, or light candles. Unless there were alien secrets to discover. Period.

Perhaps he was trying to break up with her? One had to be in a relationship in order for that to work, but her mind had sped through rationality and was running on overdrive into panic. She could not wrap her head around this curious gesture, and as complicated as Michael could be, she could more or less figure out the meaning behind his sometimes unpredictable actions. At that moment, she wondered at the significance behind this, and if this had been meticulously planned since before he'd invited her to his apartment before they'd closed together at the Crash Down. He'd only slept with her there once, and the hopeless romantic in her had believed it to be a step in the right direction for them. A stinging needle of hope pierced her, long and deep. Could he…? Michael was notoriously inept at conveying his emotions, but perhaps… perhaps he was trying to say something… perhaps…

She should have known better. Now, desperately tearing into her bottom lip, she _knew_ something had been wrong with the whole scenario. The copper tang of blood gushed onto her tongue and she barely noticed, a scene she ardently wished she could fast forward stuck in the forefront of her mind. This cell would drive her mad, the waiting would break her, but this memory… this memory would _kill_ her.

Maria's voice had broken the silence, loud and high. "_Ow!_ Not so rough, Michael!" Her annoyed huff screeched like nails on a chalkboard.

Liz had jerked to a stop, her eyes wide. They were… oh _God, _she was going to be sick. It was one thing to know, but to actually _see_… The awkward scrape of her heels against the wooden floors had been just enough to alert the two lovers of her presence, and though a part of her reveled in the small victory of ruining their fun, she wished she had just run back out of the door before Michael had seen her. Standing there, in another little number purchased specifically for Michael's pleasure, she wanted the Earth to open up and swallow her whole. She'd _curled her hair_ for this occasion, something she found a horrid waste of time, but because Michael nearly purred whenever she made the effort, she'd done it. For him. _Always_ for him. She vaguely wondered if the cosmetics would hide the color draining from her face, and if her waterproof mascara could withstand the onslaught of tears that were sure to come.

And Michael… goddamn him. Liz hated profanity, found it a cruel and wasteful use of a wonderful language, but she believed it to be appropriate now. Michael, _her_ Michael who had never really been hers to begin with, lifted his eyes to stare at her. Cold. Calm. _Irritated_. "Enjoying the show, Parker?" Not a hint of remorse or embarrassment to be caught in mid-coitus. Why should he? Maria was his girlfriend.

"I…" Her jaw unhinged itself to babble, and yet she could not make a sound.

He rolled his eyes. "Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out."

She'd turned and ran for all she was worth. Like a coward.

A week of playing Bonnie and Clyde with Max in Fillmore and Salina, Utah had seemed like a good enough distraction at the time. In retrospect, she knew she had not been thinking clearly, but what could she do? Her stomach churned harshly with the acrid bile of jealousy and her heart… if she died today, she doubted it would feel any different than the hollowness that propelled her to go to Max Evans and agree to hold a firearm. To drive around in an unfamiliar state to search for the Antarian ship hidden away beneath one of five convenient stores. To kiss her former flame when all she wanted to do was crawl into a hole in the wall and disappear. They were eventually arrested, with Max going free; _she'd_ been the one with the gun, after all. If Kyle were here, he'd probably say something about karma and the Four Noble Truths… but he was not here. _No one_ was here, nor did they come to visit. Even her parents had left her to rot in the wake of her steadfast refusal to give up Max's name to the authorities. Elizabeth Parker was many things, and she was not very proud of her most recent titles, yet she could not bring herself to condemn another when it was her own stupidity that had gotten her here.

Her knees could no longer support her and she crumbled, staring at the wall beyond the bars in a daze; there were no windows, only fluorescent lights. She had no idea of the hour, or what day it was. The cheese sandwiches were stale, the only thing consumable for the prisoners were the small eight-ounce bottles of water that left her thirstier than before. There were footsteps down the hall and they reverberated ominously, sparking the instinctive need to rock back and forth as her eyes lost focus and watered simultaneously. On the cusp of hysteria, she heard herself whispering in a droning monotone, as if from a distant dream. "_No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were…_"

"Parker, Elizabeth?" came a murmur, but it was not enough to break through the fog. "You're free to go."

"… _Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls…_"

"Liz?" Another voice. Stronger. Familiar.

More tears. More rocking. "_… It tolls for thee…_"

And then, like the prodigal son bestowing upon her the breath of life, two great hands grabbed her face and forced her wide, unseeing eyes to center and focus. Large thumbs brushed away the twin trails of wayward tears. It was futile to wipe them away, for she could shed enough to drown herself, if the need arose. And it would. "Liz!" She blinked, colors swirling together until they formed a solid mass. "Look at me, damn it." A quick shake and the last vestiges of her delirium faded into the very real, very worried face of the very man that had driven her here. "Liz, wake up. Wake the _fuck_ up!"

Those warm, autumn eyes that saw too much and gave nothing in return were round with fear. He was not hiding this time, did not cloud the truth with half-lies and vague smiles. Her memories tried to superimpose this beautiful man atop the same callous, coldhearted serpent she'd seen the night before fleeing Roswell to help Max search for that accursed space ship. The two images, though similar, were not compatible, and she wondered how she could continue to lay herself at the mercy of two separate individuals that wore the same face. They were night and day, hot and cold, fire and ice, pleasure and pain. No longer could she decipher the emotions that clogged her senses, there were simply too many to name, but when she saw him, when she touched his cheek with quivering fingers, when he exhaled sharply in relief, when he dove forward and kissed her like there would be no tomorrow… she was home. She was _home_.

"Don't you _ever_ do that to me again, Parker," he whispered against her lips, soft and rough and full of a thousand different contradictions.

She sobbed violently in response, a lost little girl in a world of shadows.

**x.x.x**

Walking out of that suffocating building, firmly tucked under his arm as she inhaled the first breath of fresh air in what seemed like a lifetime, was the most invigorating experience she'd ever had. Perhaps she was contrasting this to the claustrophobia of those iron bars, but she hoped to never need another incarceration to remind her how natural it felt to stand by Michael's side. Like she belonged there. Like he _wanted_ her there. They had not spoken a word since emerging from her cell, and she could honestly say that it did not bother her. She wanted to stay like this forever.

Michael broke the silence first, the remnants of concern still darkening his tone. "You're quiet."

She could feel his eyes on her and tried not to act out of the ordinary. "I'm fine."

It was obvious he did not believe her. "You sure? Usually, I can't shut you up."

She smiled, a small, weak lift in the corners of her mouth. That was not necessarily true; he knew _exactly_ how to keep her silent when he wanted to. Of course, that was a subject best left alone for the moment. It would not do to pour salt on her still bleeding wounds. "I'm fine," she repeated. Thankfully, he did not pry any further and they continued the walk towards his motorcycle in peace.

A few feet away from the bike—she was infinitely glad that it was not the Jetta, as she could not think of anything pertaining to the diva—another face was there to greet her, both warm and familiar. For one, irrational second, she believed that the reborn Antarian queen turned traitor had returned to end their suffering permanently, once and for all. Lightning cackled in her veins and a sliver of madness roared in fury, ready to do all within her meager human abilities stop the vile temptress, the murdering _bitch_ called Tess… but then Michael nudged her forward and she snapped out of her rage, the vile hatred subsiding into a low throb beneath her skin. With clear eyes, she noted the short, rose and ebony-tinted hair, the metal hoop on her bottom lip and the carefully hidden shyness only apparent to someone who had seen the sprite at her weakest.

"Wha's up, Cornball?"

"Ava!" Liz cried, pleasantly surprised. A sudden burst of adrenaline coaxed her forward and she enveloped the young woman in an impulsive hug. It was a relief to finally hold someone that did not tower over her, and for once, Liz did not feel so small. "It's so good to see you! What brings you here?"

Behind her, Michael was chuckling. "She's not exactly sightseeing, Liz. Unless you like sand and Mormons."

Liz threw him an exasperated glance. Ava was smirking at her, gently teasing. "I came t' see if you were cool." The smirk ironed out a little, steel blue eyes calculating. Oddly enough, that narrowed, knowing gaze dropped down to stare at her navel, and Liz frowned a little bit at the attention. What was wrong with her stomach? Liz glanced at her own belly, a hand coming up to rub the expanse of skin self-consciously. "You look like shit."

Well, at least she was honest. Beaming, Liz swelled with happiness, not offended in the least. In spite of all the friends she had in Roswell, this little street urchin had actually cared enough to see her. "How did you know I was here?"

Ava shrugged, still staring at Liz… well, her abdomen, to be precise. "Rath brought me."

Michael bristled. "_Michael_," he corrected, as if he had done so repeatedly before. He probably had. "And she just showed up a few days ago, asking for you," he was explaining, his eyes never leaving her. "I told her what happened and she said she could help us… so I brought her here."

Liz did not understand. "Help?" She was entirely too fatigued to think clearly.

Ava tapped at her temple by the piercing in her brow. "I made 'em think they got the wrong girl."

"Oh!" She felt mentally challenged. Of _course_ a replica of Tess would have the same abilities. Were they not identical? The only difference between the two hybrids, aside from their fashion sense and personality, was that Tess had chosen to side with Khivar, whilst Ava had chosen to find a life outside of destiny and the sewers. One had murdered the beloved Alex, and the other had used her remarkable power to save Liz from a living nightmare and a tally mark on her otherwise impeccable record. Ava did not owe Liz anything… but it did not change the enormous act of kindness. Elizabeth Parker appreciated it more than words could ever express. "_Thank you_," she tried, and embraced Ava once more. "I don't know how I'll ever make it up to you, but I promise I'll find a way."

The pink-haired alien tried to brush it off, but Liz could see the color in her cheeks. "No sweat." She nodded towards Michael, much to the confusion of Liz. "It stopped his bitchin', so everybody got some'in' outta the deal." Michael grunted, annoyed at the pixie. A small smile crossed Ava's face, transforming her into the teenager buried beneath the grime of a harsh life. "If you can hook me up wit' some o' that pie you gave me last time, we'll call it even."

Liz returned her grin. "Deal."

Michael cleared his throat, grabbing the extra helmet lying atop the seat of his bike. "Not to cut this short, ladies, but we've got a twelve hour ride ahead of us and I'm _starving_."

Twelve hours? On a motorcycle? With _three_ people? The butterflies fluttering in her stomach leapt and cheered at the prospect of returning to Roswell, but there was one, small problem. "How are we going to fit, Michael?" Liz frowned at the vehicle. She and Ava were the roughly the same size, but Michael was _huge_; there was no possible way for the three of them to sit together on that thing comfortably. Not without squishing each other, and Liz had not left one form of confinement to enter into another, thank you very much.

Ava scoffed. "I ain't ever gonna ride with _him_ again. He drives like an asshole."

Michael glared at her. "You're still in one piece, aren't you?"

"Barely."

"Quit your bitching. It's not like you _had_ to tag along." Michael.

"Ain't like I had a choice." Ava.

"You could've just popped in, like you did at the Crash." Michael.

"How the fuck am I s'posed to do that when I ain't ever been here before, numbnuts?" Ava, crossing her arms.

"How the fuck should _I_ know?" Michael, crossing his arms as he leaned against his bike.

"Not _my_ fault you don't know shit." Ava.

"Not _my_ fault you're a—"

"_Guys!_" It was time to stop this snowballing argument. As she slipped back into the familiar role, Elizabeth Parker attempted to be the voice of reason between these two. Their personalities were _far_ too similar, and that did not bode well with her, but if they had cooperated in order to free her, they could do so again in order to get back home. "This is going to be a _long_ drive, so why don't we just calm ourselves down for a moment and _try_ to get along. Let's not make this any harder than it has to be, okay?" Terse silence followed her reasoning, the two aliens continuing to glare at each other. Liz sighed. This was going to be a long drive _and_ a long day.

Ava smiled warmly at the peacekeeper, instantly dropping the disagreement. "You're gonna be a good mom."

That was… well. That was just _weird_. "Um… thanks?" What did someone say to that? In front of the person you've been sleeping with in secret? Liz fought the flush that threatened to flood her face. Did her best to avoid Michael's gaze. This was _not_ a discussion she wanted taking place right now. In an effort to steer the conversation back to the matters at hand, Liz eyed the motorcycle. "I think if one of us sits in front, and another behind Michael, we may be able to pull this off." With little to no bloodshed, she added to herself. It was the only option she could see, unless they tied someone to the handlebars and she was _not_ volunteering for that; as much as she loved Michael, she had to agree with Ava's assessment when it came to his driving skills. That man drove as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

"_Hell_ naw!" Ava was shaking her head. "I'll meet you there. Mind if I grab some food?"

"Sure," Liz answered, frowning. "But how are you going to—" In the blink of an eye, Ava was gone. "—get there…" She stared blankly at the empty space where the extraterrestrial had disappeared.

Michael was chuckling at her surprise. "Yeah, she does that."

"I… I didn't know you _could _do that."

He scratched at his forehead. "_I_ don't know how t—"

Liz, however, was already trying to rationalize this new demonstration of power. She placed a finger on her chin, frowning in contemplation. "It's actually not that farfetched, I mean, I don't why we never thought of it before. If you can manipulate matter on a subatomic level, then why not apply it to your _own_ molecules? Isabel changes her appearance all of the time… why didn't I see it?" She was on a roll, completely missing the look Michael gave her. "But if a molecule consists of a group of atoms, and the electrons of those atoms are bound to their nuclei by the electromagnetic force, then how is it possible to maintain the same charge during travel while, essentially, your mind is completely separated without accidentally changing the protons into neutrons, or even fusing with foreign molecules all together? Of course, this is just assuming that this is relevant to the theology of teleportation, but in order to actually _perform_ it, you would need to be completely aware of every single cell in your body and then have the ability to fuse them back together _perfectly_…" She paused, frowning deeper. "That must take a _lot_ of concentration. I wonder if it's possible t—"

"_Liz!_" Michael interrupted, running a hand through his hair. "You're freaking me out. I actually _understood_ most of that, and that's not normal." He held out the helmet for her. "Put this damn thing on and get your ass over here. I wanna try to get us back before Tinkerbelle eats all the goddamned pie." He was moody and hungry, which made him even more disgruntled than usual. She smiled at him sheepishly, embarrassed that he'd caught her rambling. Without preamble, she accepted the helmet, nervous; she had never ridden on a motorcycle before, let alone his. Excitement and a drop of trepidation swirled into a cocktail of indecision.

He would not let her fall off, would he?

Any misgivings were quickly erased when Michael swooped down and kissed her, his lips desperately moving against hers. Had he not just griped about them taking too long? Not that she was complaining. She felt the same urgency now that was present when he'd found her quoting John Donne, his arms sliding around her torso to pull her closer, devouring her little mewl. Surely, he did not mean to have her here, on his bike, in front of a building in the middle of nowhere… right? It could not have escaped his notice that she wore a pair of pants several sizes too large, or that she'd worn a pair of unflattering underwear when embarking on this ill-fated sojourn in Utah. Or that she needed a shower. He never initiated intimacy unless he planned on satisfying their carnal urges, recent events notwithstanding. He did not grope or try to undress her, and she did not know what to expect as she clutched at his jacket.

"You're not allowed to talk to Max anymore," he rasped into her mouth. "I don't know what you were thinking, but…" his fingers entangled themselves in her hair while he licked feverishly at her tongue. "Never again. I'll kill him."

She did not have the strength of mind to remind him why she had run off with Max to begin with, not while enjoying this rare display of pure, tender affection. It was pointless to explain how contact with Max would be inevitable, or how very unlikely it would be for him to murder his brother, especially for her sake. He was blowing off steam, and she was fine with that, as long as he did not end this shining moment of bliss.

**x.x.x**

Life after Utah was exactly what she had expected to be, even if she had hoped differently; her parents adamantly refused to let her continue her association with Maxwell Evans, which was more of a favor than a punishment, and she was grounded until she went to college. Jeffrey and Nancy Parker were elated to have their baby girl back home and free of criminal charges, but they were sorely disappointed with her, making it clear that she would have to earn their trust back. Aside from the verbal lashing and the crushing emotional turmoil that always came with failing in the eyes of her parents, it could have been a lot worse.

School was hectic and disheartening. News traveled quickly in a small town and Perfect Parker's brush with the law was no secret. She could have dealt with the harsh whispers and probing stares had it not been for Maria. She could deal with Kyle's knowing eyes, Isabel's caustic remarks—as if committing a felony had been her idea all along—and Max's futile attempts to apologize and win her favor again, but Maria DeLuca had started a personal campaign to escape the alien abyss. The biggest problem? An old friend, whom Liz remembered as an old flame, named Billy had stopped into town some time during the Salina debacle and was currently staying with Maria while her mother, Amy DeLuca, was on the road for a few weeks. Michael was furious and did not see the situation as the gift Liz did, which would normally be understandable, had Michael not been fornicating with Elizabeth Parker around every corner. Upon resuming her position as a waitress, the Crash Down became a warzone when Maria and Michael were scheduled together, and Liz was stuck as the medium for the man that she loved and the sister she wanted to hate.

Her balcony was the only sanctuary she had left, and even that was taken from her when Max decided to continue his advances. Her journal became a record of crooked scratches as she tried to organize her thoughts without losing herself, trying to combat the loneliness now that Michael was neglected her to deal with the matter of Maria and Billy.

_Michael… _He'd been so sweet and attentive towards her during their journey back from Salina, buying her whatever she wanted, kissing her every time they stopped, throwing his arm around her shoulders whenever they walked into another store. They had taken a detour in Albuquerque to rest and he'd taken her to a nice little dinner, where she had consumed everything in sight. She'd even had a bite of his burger, which he had fixed to his own, alien specifications and she'd discovered that it was _delicious_. Michael had given her an odd look before he proceeded to order another meal, fixed it with his special blend of condiments, and told her to eat _that_. Liz had proclaimed it to be orgasmic; Michael had proclaimed the entire scenario _weird_. After that, they'd left for the final stretch to Roswell with a full stomach and a happy heart.

As soon as his motorcycle had parked in front of the Crash Down, he'd abandoned her, leaving her to greet an enthusiastic Ava… who had eaten all of the pie.

Michael did not return to her that night, or any other night after. He did not even _speak_ to her, and it stung so much more after he'd shown her how wonderful he could be. Even trying to engage Sean DeLuca in casual sex did not help her forget him; it had been the pinnacle of her downfall, and _not _one her best moments. In the end, she could not go through with the act, could not replace the void her paramour had left behind, and she stopped trying.

Ava was her only solace. Her only friend. In spite of the circumstances, Jeff Parker allowed the "distant relation" of Tess Harding to stay with them. Liz had a feeling that a mind warp was in play, though it mattered little in the long run. Liz found herself spilling her innards to Ava many a night, trusting the alien as a confidante whenever her nightmares threatened to overwhelm her. Between shopping expeditions, long nights watching movies and the general ease of companionship in the days that followed her tumulus return to Roswell, Elizabeth Parker slowly rediscovered that Harvard-bound young woman who wanted to make a difference in the world, even if the people in it no longer acknowledged her existence. Especially when the others were not fond of having a duplicate of Tess walking around, but they avoided Liz like the plague anyway, so it did not matter to her anymore when they abandoned her all together. Ava's sharp wit and knowledge gained from stalking the streets of New York was refreshing, giving Liz a new perspective she would have never gained otherwise, and she cherished this new bond. The ache in the wake of Michael's absence went unnoticed.

It was common knowledge that Ava was simply passing through, visiting the friend she'd made in New Mexico before moving on to California, a state she had never been to before. Liz was happy for her and dismayed that she would lose the wanderer's presence in her life, but did not voice her thoughts. Ava had a right to live her days however she wished and it was not anyone's place to ask her to stay. Liz would endeavor to spend as much time with her as she could before Ava decided to venture onward. Who knew? Perhaps she would take a trip to the far West coast in the break between graduation and college; it would be nice to get out of this small town for a little while.

Then, on a sweltering desert night, everything fell apart.

Maria and Michael were arguing when the doors to the Crash Down closed. Luckily, her parents were out on a romantic evening together and Ava was fast asleep upstairs. Liz was in the back room, standing in front of the large refrigerator in the hopes of stealing some ice cream; the heat made the thin fabric of her shirt stick uncomfortably to her back and the little shorts she wore were of no help. She was too busy melting to really care what was said between the quarreling couple, only registering the angry slam of the back door and Michael's motorcycle revving away from the restaurant. She had not spoken nor been with Michael in weeks, so it was not surprising when he did not spare her a glance.

Maria came storming into the kitchen, ranting and raving about her boyfriend's every flaw, slamming the lockers closed as she boasted of her prowess with Billy and how wonderful it would be to jumpstart her life again. It was just Maria being herself, venting, and Liz should have left it alone. She should have simply nodded her head and allowed Maria to expel all of the negative energy until she realized her error, as she had done so many times in the past. Sweet, passionate, melodramatic Maria had been her friend since before she could remember and she would never change, so it should not have made a difference. It should not have mattered. What business was it of hers if Maria decided to throw away the very man she wanted for some opportunistic musician? In fact, that would be _great_ news.

But Michael loved Maria. _Loved _her, like he would never love Elizabeth Parker, and that made all the difference.

Common sense did not aide her. Logic had abandoned her, like everything else she had once believed to be constants. Ignoring the open refrigerator, Liz spun around in a fury. "Michael works _hard_ to maintain his lifestyle, Maria. It's not _his_ fault he can't run around with a guitar and sing a soliloquy every time you get bored. Who are _you_ to put him down?" _God_, what was she saying? What was she _doing_? Her mouth had a mind of its own and she could not stop it. "He stayed here for _you_, when he could have run off to his people, but he stayed because he loves _you_." She was gesticulating as her voice rose higher and higher, but she did not care. Nothing mattered more than releasing this anger, this bitter hatred she harbored and hid, even from herself. She'd nurtured it in secret since Michael had told her without words that he would never give her his devotion, that he would never want anything from her were it not for the primal burning. She was ashamed that even now, she still hoped he would open his eyes and see how wonderful they could be together. How perfect they could be. That he could learn to love her if he would just _try_. "You're a selfish, _selfish_ child, Maria, and if you can't see how lucky you are, you don't deserve him!"

What had she done? _God_, what had she done?

More words were exchanged, none of them pleasant. When there was nothing else to say, Maria left her standing there to clean up the mess they'd made; Maria of the Crash Down and Liz of their friendship. Drained, Liz sank to the floor, numb and utterly appalled at herself, when the sound of a loud crash drifted from her room. It pushed away the cloud of depression. Moments later, Michael came stampeding down the stairs from the apartment above, his steps loud and hurried. Had he not stormed away on his bike? When did he come back? Had he heard them, his mistress and his girlfriend, clawing at each other like alley cats? It struck her as ironic that when Michael had finally decided to slink through her window, she was downstairs berating Maria in a jealous, spitting hissy fit. She hoped he had not awoken Ava in his heavy-footed hurry. "Wh-what…?" Her throat was hoarse from yelling. "Michael, when did you—?"

"_What the fuck are you playing at, Parker?_" He was absolutely apoplectic, looming over her as she got to her feet.

She tried to explain. "I don't know what came over me, _I'm sorry_, I just—"

Her own words came back to slap her in the face. He was crowding her, herding her backwards. "Who the _fuck_ do you think you are?" Her spine hit the still open refrigerator door and he slammed it shut behind her, pushing her against the cool surface. She could not say a word. He was an animal, wild and unpredictable. _Lethal. _When he nuzzled her cheek, deceptively gentle, she damned her body for reacting instantly even as she trembled in the shadow of his ire. He growled, tearing away her damp shirt. The button of her denim shorts broke in his grip, the zipper offering no resistance. "I leave you alone for a few days and you just _had_ to fuck the first dick you saw, didn't you?" It had been _so_ long since he'd touched her, since he'd taken her, but she never imagined it happening like this. Not like _this_. He was cutting her down to nothing. "Did you show him what I taught you? Did he make you _scream_ like I do?" His grin was feral.

_What?_ Where had _that_ come from? That was the _last _thing she had expected to hear. "_Fuck_ you!" She spat, a spark of the old Elizabeth Parker sputtering to life for one, blinding moment. How _dare_ he accuse her of infidelity when their whole _relationship_ had been founded on that very principle? How _dare _he suggest…? She didn't even understand what he was talking about, could have sworn he was irate with her because of the sharp words she'd thrown at Maria. Where had he gotten the idea that she…?

He kissed her, silencing her brief rebellion in an awful battle of scraping teeth. "I plan to," and he ripped away her flimsy undergarment, the final barrier, and surged into her. Distantly, she heard glass shattering in response to his rancor. She nearly lost herself in the delicious tide of sensation… were it not for those hideous oaths he kept spitting into her ears. "C'mon, _moan_ for me." She fought to remain silent, her eyes overflowing as he cursed and yanked roughly on her hair. "Say my name," he demanded, biting her neck. He shook her when she would not comply, one hand squeezing her backside. He kept moving within her, kept pulling her back and forth between hazy elation and dismal misery. "_Say it!_" The tattered shreds of her heart splintered with every thrust. Above them, the lights flickered once, twice, and then exploded, little shards raining down around them in the darkness of their union.

When he was satiated, he pulled away from her, letting her crash to her knees without his support. She could not look at him, curling into herself, spent and ashamed and angry and hurt and _so many different emotions_, but above all, she regretted the day she fell in love with him. This _monster_ that used her and gave her the greatest pleasure she had ever known, sneering at her all the while. She was his whore, and what was worse, she'd _allowed_ herself to become as such. Even in the broken fairytale she'd experienced with Maxwell Evans, she had never fallen so far from grace. Huddled there, amid the jagged pieces of heated glass, the scraps of her clothes and the infinitesimal granules of her dignity, she was overcome with a burning hatred. Towards Max, for proving that dreams never came true. Towards her parents, for never warning her that there were some things you could not surpass with logic and reasoning. Towards Maria, with whom she had allowed jealousy eat away at any friendship she could have saved in this endless drama. Towards Isabel, towards Kyle, towards Tess, towards the Granilith…

Towards Michael, her Michael, _Maria's_ Michael. "You were my biggest mistake," was his murmur in the gloom of the destroyed kitchen.

She hated everyone, but none more than herself.

**END**


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